


Seniority

by IncomingAlbatross



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: (i mean. still the future. but pre-canon for THEM), Dorks, Friendship, Gen, I WOULD call it 'crack treated seriously' but that's kinda just... the entire show, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Canon, absolutely platonic btw, apparent timeline discrepancies, canon-typical crack?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncomingAlbatross/pseuds/IncomingAlbatross
Summary: When our two favorite Time Agents first become partners, Cavendish seems to be younger and less experienced than Dakota; however, at the time of the show, Cavendish has gray hair and appears CONSIDERABLY older, while Dakota has hardly changed at all. So what is thetruth?...The truth, as might be expected, hinges on the all-important fact that these two areutter dorks.(Cavendish in particular, if you ask Dakota, but honestly? It's not like he doesn't aid and abet him.)
Relationships: Balthazar Cavendish & Vinnie Dakota
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Seniority

**Author's Note:**

> So I only watched the second season of MML recently, and when I got to their origin story I started wondering about their ages. I made a Tumblr post about this important question, and some possible answers; came up with an entirely _new_ and better answer with the help of some wise mutuals; and then immediately hammered out this oneshot in the grip of Late-Night Inspired Writing Mode.

Vinnie Dakota, Time Agent (Third Class) was relaxing in their tiny agency-funded, almost-free quarters when his partner came in.

“Hey, Cavendish, didja get the—”

And then he fell off the couch. (Oh, maybe _that_ was why his mom had always told him not to sit upside-down with his legs draped over the back.)

His idiot partner, who had left a few hours ago his young, dumb, _blond_ self, now had gray hair.

And a mustache.

But the fact that the mustache was _also gray_ was really more alarming than the fact that it existed.

“What _happened?”_ he demanded, scrambling to his feet and hurrying to his partner’s side. He lets Cavendish out of his sight for _one minute_ and he, what, lost _thirty years?_ This was…this was _so_ not okay. They weren’t even on a _mission!_

Cavendish coughed, awkwardly, and Dakota suppressed the urge to shake him. Only he would be _embarrassed_ by losing half his lifespan, seriously. What, did he “break a rule” doing it? (Ha. As _if_.)

“Nothing…interesting,” Cavendish said huffily, avoiding eye contact. (See, Dakota used to not know the word “huffily,” but Cavendish did things that way so often that he was _forced_ to learn it.) “Just…you know, the sort of thing that happens when one is a Time Agent, not worth dwelling on, shall we just move on?”

Dakota grabbed his shoulder. “’Not worth dwelling on,’ are you _crazy?”_ And now he _did_ shake him, just a little, because this idiot apparently _needed_ it. “’Not worth dwelling on’ is when we take a detour for lunch before finishing the mission, Cavendish. ‘Not worth dwelling on’ is when a nickel from 1970 ends up in 1940. What _is_ worth dwelling on is _you losing…!”_

And then he trailed off, eyes narrowing, as his brain started to put together what was in front of him a little more thoroughly. Something here was not what it seemed…

Cavendish’s eyes darted to his, and then away again. He fidgeted nervously.

“No age spots,” Dakota said slowly, eyes still narrowed. “No wrinkles, even.” He poked Cavendish’s cheek, then his shoulder. “As much muscle as you’ve ever had—”

“Oi!”

“Shut up, I’m _deducing._ ” He pulled on Cavendish’s arm, raising it from the elbow. “Hands look the same too. Your ears and nose aren’t any bigger, either…”

“ _What?”_

“It’s a thing that happens when people get old, look it up.” He dropped Cavendish’s arm, grinning. “ _When people get old._ Which _you_ _haven’t._ ”

Cavendish hunched his shoulders, cheeks starting to flush under the gray mustache—yep, yep, still his idiot junior partner. “I mean, well…”

“Which _means_ ,” Dakota drawled, still grinning, “that you _dyed your hair. Gray.”_

“I—well—I—”

“ _You dyed your ha-air_ ,” he singsonged, poking him again. “What, is this about people not taking you seriously? You wanted to look older? It is, isn’t it.” The emotional switch from “alarm” to “entertainment” was a little dizzying, but he was _totally_ going to milk this for all it was worth. Cavendish deserved it for scaring him like that, anyway. “You dyed your hair so people would think you’re older.” Then he stopped, feeling his eyes widen with a sudden, _beautiful_ realization. “You did it so people would think you’re older than _me.”_

Cavendish was trying to storm away into the kitchen, but that wasn’t really working when their “kitchen” was just a counter with, like, three appliances, and also only like four steps away. Now he stopped, back turned but still obviously bristling. “It’s not all about _you,_ you know!” There was a slight pause. “…And anyway, you’re only a _few_ years older than me.”

“Uh-huh,” Dakota said smugly. “So you’re telling me you _didn’t_ do this so people would think you’re the senior agent?”

Cavendish hesitated. “…Not _entirely._ ”

“Wait, really?” He blinked. “Spill.” Dakota joined his partner at the kitchen counter, heaving himself up to sit on it while Cavendish made tea around him (and tried to glare him into moving, but he was _beyond_ glare-proof by now). “How’d it happen, then? …And how’d you get a full mustache?”

“Well…” Cavendish’s cheeks were still flushed with his earlier embarrassment, but after a second he carried on. “I was getting fitted for my new time-traveling clothes—”

“Oh, is _that_ what you were doing today? I gotta get over there and get mine done soon, huh.”

“I told you where I was going three times! And I’ve been _reminding_ you to go yourself!”

Dakota blinked. “Really? Huh. My bad, I’ll get to it tomorrow.” Or he’d do it next week and go _back_ to tomorrow but, y’know. He wasn’t going to _say_ that part. Cavendish didn’t like him “breaking the rules” for “trivial matters.”

…He should probably actually do it tomorrow.

Cavendish humphed (another Cavendish Word! Though Dakota wasn’t sure if that was actually a word, to be honest), but went back to his story. “So I was getting fitted—and I quite like mine, I will say—but the tailor said they were too old for me. And I said, ‘Well, yes, it _is_ from the past, that’s rather the point,’ and _she_ said, ‘No, I mean they’d look better on you if you were older.’” He paused, pulling his “World’s First Commemorative Mug” mug out of the cupboard, and then continued. “And I said, ‘Oh, all right, but it’s a bit late to alter them, isn’t it?’ And then she suggested that I try how they looked with _me_ altered instead. My hair, I mean.” He paused again, reflectively. “And then she thought what I _really_ needed to complete the outfit was a moustache, so she used a Quick-Disguise Kit to speed-grow mine and then dyed that as well. And…well, I rather liked it. Especially with my new clothes, but even so…” He turned to face Dakota fully. “Tell me, honestly, what do _you_ think?”

Dakota blinked, looking him over. Even though on a closer inspection he could tell Cavendish wasn’t actually old, people who didn’t really know him probably genuinely wouldn’t notice—maybe it was his bone structure, or something, but the look held together surprisingly well.

Obviously, of course, no one but Cavendish would actually _want_ this, but hey… “If you wanna look like an old man, instead of just _sounding_ like one, then why not?” He clapped his partner on the shoulder, grinning. “Live your dreams, buddy.”

Cavendish pouted. “Seriously, Dakota!”

“Hey, hey, I am serious,” he defended himself. “It kinda suits you, weirdly enough. If you want to keep it, well…we’ve both done weirder things. We’re time-travelers, for crying out loud! If we’re out there saving human history as we know it—” not that a couple of Third Classes like them would _actually_ get important jobs, but Cavendish was young and idealistic “—we should get to do it with whatever hair color we want, right?”

Cavendish nodded, clearly trying to convince himself. “Right. And, you know, I think this will _help_ me do my job.” He peered down into his tea, fingering his mustache. “I think I _will_ get more respect like this.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Dakota rolled his eyes, and used the height advantage of sitting on the counter to ruffle his ridiculous partner’s ridiculous gray hair. Cavendish jerked his head away with an offended splutter that made Dakota snicker, and he added, “Besides, I thought you said this _wasn’t_ about making people think you were older than me.”

“I _said_ ,” Cavendish said, straightening himself up, mug clutched properly in his hand, “‘not entirely.’" He turned away, sipping his tea, and added, “That’s merely a fortunate bonus.”

“ _Hey!”_ Dakota yelled at his back as he walked over to the couch. “ _Rude.”_ It probably would’ve been more effective if he could stop grinning, but what could he say? Sometimes Cavendish was funny.

“I bet I’ll still get more respect than you,” he added, jumping down from the counter. Cavendish had grabbed the remote, and he had the _worst_ taste in shows, but maybe Dakota would go get his fitting done while he was thinking about it. (There was a good ice cream place he could detour to on the way back, anyway.) “I bet even with your fancy clothes and my tracksuit, I’ll _still_ get more respect than you.”

Cavendish sniffed, flipping to a rerun of _Horse in a Bookcase._ (Seriously, the _worst_ taste. Eesh.) “I’ll take that bet,” he said.

“Cool cool, we’ll discuss terms when I get back,” Dakota said, grabbing his jacket. “And just to make it fair, I won’t tell anyone that you’re _not_ as old as you look, old man.” He paused. “Not that I would anyway, actually, it’s funnier if the whole agency thinks you were in some kind of dramatic time-incident that you refuse to talk about. Oh, man, this could be _fun…”_

He went out the door on Cavendish’s indignant “It will _not!”_

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say,” he called back, laughing, before he shut the door. “'Senior’ partner.”

**Author's Note:**

> They are very dumb and I love them.
> 
> Also, the post that started this: https://incomingalbatross.tumblr.com/post/618503556651220992/so-while-it-is-deeply-satisfying-to-know-that


End file.
